Tears and laughter as life goes on in Kinglake

Somehow, those who remain in the bushfire-devastated Victorian town of Kinglake are getting on with their lives - a daily routine now of lining up, filling up, cleaning up and catching up.

The town centre has become a service point for life's essentials and at its heart is the council office where volunteers provide information about anything and everything.

The concerns are sometimes strange: "Don't worry about your rates bill ... Sorry I can't help you get rid of the dead deer on your back doorstep ... Please take the library books and bring them back when you can."

The kids' library (I slept on its couch during my second night here) is now the relief centre. Dozens of people line up for hours to talk to the Department of Human Resources about how much they've lost and the financial support they'll need.

Chaplains work the line. It's been a few days now, but the conversations never change.

Survival: "House is gone, but I'm here."

Loss: "My sister and the kids ..." That's all she managed.

And then there's the horror. The man who started screaming about not being able to recharge his phone. Why the anger? He'd seen people running down the street towards him on fire.

He's not alone.

Amongst this line-up of grim faces there are relieved smiles. Tears are never far away. People get the shakes. Those who have only just been reunited hug and rub each other's backs and find a quiet corner.

Some are clean. Others are covered in black. Mothers hug their children and talk about the clothes they've borrowed.

Outside there's a barbecue with a never-ending supply of fried food. Next to them the Federal Government's support workers providing financial relief out of a mobile office on the back of a truck.

Laughter amid the tears

When the state and federal government agencies fronted the public meeting yesterday outside, they knew they were dealing with people who were stressed beyond belief.

"I'm used to being abused - I've got three teenage daughters," the man from the state Department of Human Resources said.

"Yes, we're the Feds - we're bigger bastards," the man from Centrelink said to a round of laughter. "We'll be here as long as you need us," to a round of applause.

And then he said: "For anyone who has lost everything and has never used Centrelink before, don't worry we've got your file ... we're the Government." Another round of laughter.

Grim work continues

These support services are operating cheek by jowl with the people in uniform who are still doing their work.

At one corner of the T-junction in the centre of town the CFA shed is still slogging it out. Trucks in, mouths fed, resting up and then returning to patrol - there's less buzz than before, but they haven't stopped.

Next to them, at the public toilets where a goat was tethered the other day, a vet has sprung up. Across the road bales of hay for livestock that have survived. Yesterday the RSPCA arrived to discreetly destroy those animals that were injured.

Then there's a skate ramp where a few of the local kids have returned to play. Snaking its way around them is the line of cars waiting for fuel.

The fuel tanker never stops filling up vehicles and containers:"Petrol or diesel ... Petrol or diesel ..."

When they get a chance they fill the jerry cans that have been lined up in rows alongside - each carries a local's name and phone number. That's the sort of take away service in operation now.

For some locals their morning walk means dropping off their jerry can then wandering past to the supermarket. Outside there's box after box of fresh fruit and veg, loaves of bread and some tinned food all being offered for free each day.

Once the locals have filled up they move onto the warehouse out the back of the restaurant next door. It's stacked full of clothing, toiletries, tinned food and other basics to help restock cupboards and pantries.

It simply sprang up because so much charity arrived it had to be housed somewhere big. Volunteers are running shifts throughout the day and when they get tired they grab a mate to take over.

Everyone keeps saying: "Oh, I won't take too much," but they are encouraged to take as much as they can carry, such are the supplies arriving.

Mangled

Outside, across the main street, lies the destroyed, mangled, metal-wreck of the petrol station. It's hard to imagine a building ever stood on the site. Locals say they will never forget the roar when it went up.

That wrecked building is just one of hundreds around town, but the only one in the immediate town centre.

The police station next door was only built a handful of years ago. It has charred garden plants and a few burn marks, but survived.

Today, the neighbouring fence had to be taken down to accommodate vehicles for the dozens of extra police now in town. Detectives, forensics, urban search and rescue, sniffer dogs and those in the white suits and gumboots.

In the park next door are the tents of the Red Cross medical centre. Yesterday a woman with a horrific cough was sitting inhaling medication via a mask. She tried to have a friendly chat, but gave up amidst a hale of hacking.

Back over the final road of the T-junction is the pub. It's now an internet cafe with free phones where people can recharge mobiles. There are portaloos out the back. A truckload of showers and hygiene stations (portable hand basins) have been promised.

This is the new town centre of Kinglake. These are the lives people now lead. I'm very aware I will leave here some day soon.

Some locals are yet to decide whether they will stay or go. Almost all I've spoken to want to stay.